i slept for 800 years & just woke up.

the sky is pink now or maybe it's pink
only in my eyes. who can really know
what color means to another person.
the sky might also be bruised.
birds never land.
they have evolved their legs away
& now they spend their whole life
in the air. hovering eggs. nests floating
down streams. moses was a bird like these.
my bunk bed has a heart of its own 
& it walks away with out me to graze
on the squiggled lawn. a cork screw 
is a way of life. everyone i know is not dead
they have just been turned to stone.
contrary to popular belief, stone is 
the most alive material in the universe.
mountains shiver when they're snowed on.
i climb my father's statue & tell him
i love him more than ever. it's terrible
the way i loved people before my great sleep.
i always wanted to be alone.
on the street, there are no cars
but there are a lot of ghost cars. they drive fast.
if they drive through you, a song will appear
in your head & you will not be able to shake it.
i have rock lobster by the B52s
replying in my skull. 
there is a record player in there.
dust sits on the tops of my bones.
was there a flood? several?
who can tell what a place does while
you're not working. i remember just before i slept.
we drove down 222 as a family 
& there were all these new chain restaurants.
they were shiny & freshly sprouted.
i wonder where all the texas roadhouses go
in the future. it's not worth checking.
the water is thicker now,
almost a syrup. easier to gulp
if you ask me. everything is hotter
of course. the global warming 
melts all the plastic but especially
the plastic i loved like coat hangers 
& spinning tops. stone of course,
is unharmed even by heat.
if i go back to sleep will you wait for me?
my body has been refusing to ask questions 
& has been directing me to stone slabs.
a new comandment is forming 
on the horizon. jesus is full of holes
& moses is hovering above the river.
the bible is just a ghost now.
one big ghost of thin pages.
i take a small spoon to scrape the sky.
it tastes like grapefruit & melancholy.
i used to think melancholy 
was a flavor & then i believed it was 
an emotion & now i'm back to thinking
it's a flavor. the bed is returning,
galloping on its four legs.
my heart is already there
eating a take out box from 
the texas roadhouse. i'm going
to keep plunging forward.
i hope the sky is eventually mauve.
i hope the stone melts to magma
& the mountains finally get to experience
a real transformation. i too
turned to liquid & cooled in the stream.
pillow over my head.
the sun is blinking or winking
who can know which. 

my brother throws up a brown recluse spider

replace brother with dog.
the moon wanes so much it becomes
a rock held to the side of a mountain
with great sheets of mesh. i think
ha, the mountain is wearing
fish nets. 
the mountain 
is a slut. 
like a spider,
i could be crushed very easily
by the mountain's bolders.
i would twitch like 
an antenae trying to speak
the ant langue.
about the spider, 
there is so much to be afraid of.
it crawled from his mouth 
& bit his neck on the way.
there is no antidote 
for spider bites 
you just have to give in
& become a spider. 
what if i accidentally smash
my brother? i'm sure it's happened.
in the windowsill, i found the carcass
of a dead yellow-jacket.
it felt hollow & i wondered where
the insides escaped to.
are bees full of bolders too?
i would probably thrive
with an exoskeleton.
it might be easier to persuade
my family that i'm doing alright
and i'm going to be okay.
i defered payments on my student loans
& they are becoming bolders too.
a hole in the yard might lead anywhere
but i'm too big to fit down it.
i drop blueberries inside 
& try to listen but never hear
a splash. i was hoping it led 
to a den of mermaids. 
grass is overrated. wildflowers 
are catty & always critiquing 
the weeds who wonder what the difference is
between a wild flower & themselves.
the street is a staircase
into the mountain. the mountain will
one day be too big. it will eclipse 
the sun or turn into a spider.
my brother is alright. my dog
is my closest friend. she sleep on my chest
like a conch shell.

on my desktop 

i have a zip file of my soul
i'd like to show you. there is this video
of two flowers eating each other.
there is nothing on tv anyone
& the news anchors are very very tired.
i want to pluck them from the screen
& turn them into beanie babies 
for my collection. we could have a tea party
in the basement & i could give them
the latest death tolls & i could
invent some happy news. a hot air ballon 
will launch today with a basket full of snakes.
the snakes are heading towards heaven
& they are finally being forgiven. 
in another town, they gave up on the newspaper
& instead they just started printing the news 
in the wings of passing moths. 
the moths wander to our town 
& breed with other moths. the baby moths
are born with new headlines:
unrest grows as jesus is found in an electoral slam, 
You can makean elegant widow from canned fears,
pandemic shows new risks of how to say goodbye.
i read the moths as they pass by my face.
you should read every file on my computer
& tell me what sun sign i am.
the zodiac is full of hope. when i was born
crabs crawled out of every window
to welcome me. in my next life 
i will not be a crab but i will be
a .docx file on a desk top of the word "crab"
repeated over & over. how did this get here?
someone with the computer will ask. 
do not check my search history.
it's nothing that bad i just enjoy ASMR
more than i'd like to admit. 
no one talks softly anymore.
cartoons are comprised of a series
of shouts & screams. children are
double-clicking on my face & hoping
the new program will load. in this video game
the goal is to try not to over plan.
they say you should take it
one step at a time. i am walking
on glass. the glass is blinking.
the glass is a computer screen
& someone is trying to stream a movie
for free. we need more 
free content. a virus enters me
through my eyes. i thought i didn't dream last night
but now i'm picturing a small narrow escape tunnel 
& a voice inside myself telling me
i have to climb in if i ever want to escape.
there is a series of ornate boxs 
lingering underneath my bed. the moon
becomes a loading symbol. the spinning ball of death.
death is patience. how long can you wait
to open the newest shiny application?

ghost bees (& then i go to sleep inside a mountain)

my gagets all die in their sleep.
all my data swims towards god.
god is a blinking circut board
& i have no idea how he works.
my cell phone keeps becoming 
a snail when i'm not careful. we are always 
adjacent to the next transformation.
i flicker between pocketwatch & person.
the rain today is going to flood my heart
& i will have to bail water out
with a thimble. i had a dream where 
the water park was overrun with gnats.
we need to lay dead bees to rest or we will have
ghost bees & ghost strawberries & ghost plum trees.
the last thing i need is to be haunted
by another stem. sometimes, i dream of someone
opening all the files on my computer 
after i die. everyone on my facebook feed 
is sharing memories of the their previous lives.
my one friend has a photograph of when 
they were a coal miner in the late 1800s. they had
soot for eyes. in pennsylvania the mountains 
are placeholders for the next strip mall.
the mountains walk their clouds on leashes 
above their heads. i remember the dream now!
we were swimming in the dark for miles 
& i was trying to leave early. our bathing suites 
were all blue. there was no way
to peer into the water. dad was telling me
we had at least another mile to go.
there was a beautiful girl who swam next to me
who i was falling in love with. oh well. 
i am outside of the dream now. 
a video of guinea pigs
marching with carrots in their mouths 
is projected on the mountain's face
& this is disrespectful. where can i find
enough water to sink in. if it snows in may
i will give up along with the daffodils.
what's the point of a season if 
they are all broken glass anyway.
i need a good back massage. am i still
alive? is there a ghost bee 
in my throat, eating my food for me?
that would explain why i am always
dwindling. it would be okay
if it were the bee's fault. it's hard
to be a ghost. all water is just 
ghosts who gave in. i am taking a walk
so long no one will be able to find me.
i am walking steadily inside a mountain
where there are enough throw pillows 
to satify anyone. i will burn them 
to make new dark clouds. i am sending
rain for the farmers & their fields 
of someday corn. a whole hive finds me.
ghost bees frolic across the stone.
i feed them my memories of honey
& they eat & are satified. i eat nothing
until i am a ghost too & i wait to become
a pocketwatch or maybe a yo-yo. who can really know 
what is coming next?

ghosts run in my family

i have several siblings who are ghosts
& they play in backyard with the bats & the owls.
soon the ocean will be made 
of plastic water bottles
& i am part of the problem because yesterday
i bought a case of water bottles. 
don't worry though
in the plastic-water-bottle-ocean 
the bottles will be at least still be full of water
& you will be able to peer inside & see
tiny ghost fish dancing with each other.
if you find the right bottle you might even find
a little speckled reef standing 
like rows of crooked red teeth. i am afraid
of the basement because that is where
my father drinks beer with demons. 
they have black eyes & they build 
model space ships from bottle caps.
a light is always on in the basement 
& even behind my eyelids i can feel it.
in the yard, one of the trees grows
frozen meatballs & chicken fingers.
i ask a ghost to harvest them for us
& he carries the ripe meat in his bare hands.
luckily i don't any of that stuff. 
god is pickling & some of the brine
falls down as rain. jars click together
to ring out a new thunder. my not-ghost brothers
have such easy lives with all their blood
& all their bones. the ghosts would kill
for a chance to watch television 
& play video games. this is why i work 
to appease them. some of the ghosts 
are just empty tin cans & other are 
full bodied apparitions in white robes.
when a ghost screams something has to 
tear in half. this is how i lost 
my copy of the bible. it just severed
& i was like 'thank god that's over.'
i tell my ghost brothers 
to never fall in love with boys 
who want to make a wife of you.
i was a wife briefly at the age of eighteen.
a wedding dress sprouted from the warm
april dirt & i wore it barefoot in the creek
until it finally deteriorated & i was naked 
& cold & i walked home. 
replace all the plastic bottles in the world
with light bulbs. if i had any concern for my health
i would drink more sun beams. i would 
practice glowing. i would prepare more thoroughly 
for ghosthood. my backyard becomes
a coral reef complete with eels 
& red finger-like creatures. i find a nook
to hide away in. no ghosts come. i imagine 
my body inside a water bottle. safe & contained.
around me, the moon blinks like a broken sign.

green thursday almost elegy 

nice to see so many ribs 
in one place. last time i saw a bouquet 
it was made dogwood branches 
& the flowers were near dead, browning
at the edges. what are we supposed to 
with the knowlege trees have their toes planted 
in the earth. almost no bugs will survive 
if we continue to be mean to them.
who is your favorite day of the week?
mine is thursday because it suggests 
everything will be over soon. 
all thursdays are green. there is a store
called "tuesday morning" full of wild trinkets
& i once went on a date there. 
i bought him a stuffed whale. 
back at his house the stuffed whale
became a full huge whale. it broke the bathtub 
we tried to keep her in. eventually
she grew wings & headed for the beach.
i saw a video of wildwood & no one 
was wearing face masks. people are dying
like dogwood. there is a warped whisk
in the utensil drawer & i can't wait
to use it on you. there was a grizzly bear
in my sock so i asked him to exit.
we drove to the poconos & he told me stories
of his youth when gas was less than 
a dollar a gallon. he asked 
how long i plan to stay alive
& i told him i'm trying i'm trying.
my grandmother lived to be like 90
& i wonder how much of it she enjoyed.
i don't think my life is about feelin happy.
happiness is all about forgetting.
i don't want to forget anything that's why
i keep detailed notes of the number of arms
on every single tree i meet. we will lose track
if i am not dedicated. in this town everyone has 
a bow & arrow aimed at a fake dear.
the fake dears will one day be granted hearts 
& just as they come alive a hunter will
impale them on their own front lawn. 
people practice shooting the air around here.
i do it too but i don't use a real gun,
i just make on with my finger 
& i put it to my head &
confetti comes out my other ear.
just a party trick. no worries.
glitter confetti. 
we will have to vacuum it up.

i never meant to leave orbit like this

with my rocket stages drifting 
like pool floaties around the surface.
everything smells like chlorine
this morning so i don't drink any water.
if you repeat to yourself too many times
"this is okay this is okay" it will start to
get worse. or maybe i am just saying it wrong.
i don't think i should pray
god already knows what i want &
what i want is to find a twenty dollar bill
in the grass this morning. i know i won't find it
& i know he's keeping it for himself
to buy a case of beer at the end of the week.
i left my favorite salt 
in the cabinet down below. is there salt
in space? we will see. i am tasting
everything rock i can find in the hopes that
one will come up sharp & briney. 
earth is in a fish bowl of its own fear.
looking down i see everyone's faces 
all warped in the glass. "i will get
what i want," is a harsher way to say
"i will be okay." i don't believe in either
but my grandmother did believe she would get
what she wanted. she yelled into phones
until the phones turned back into 
swans necks or deer carcasses. she was
powerful which is also to say she was
priviledged & white & took her teeth out
for them to talk on their own. 
i will miss hymnals back on earth.
i enjoyed openning them & smelling
old mouths & old songs. the thing about
drifting in space is it's a lot like
trying to sink to the bottom of a swimming pool.
pressing thr air from your lungs.
all the cool kids are eating cheese fries
& daring each other to kiss while
water sits above you like a big brother.
what will i do with myself 
she/he is a mess. looking up
potential apartment on gas planets.
praying to tooth brushes. where will she be
in eight years? probably not
on solid ground or maybe i should trust
my own fingers. no, they look like worms.
how do you know you are made of water?
i could be made of well positioned balloons
or scheme of good mice. well, there is no such thing
as good mice. they are all plotting something.
i will miss myself dearly. he was bold
& he was trying to make a name for himself 
out of bones in a skunk cabbage field.
where are the snakes right now?
i need to consult one.

aubade possibly made of ash 

the birds outside my window
are not birds at all. they are likely 
a swarm of girls with bob-haircuts
all chattering early morning.
it is important to get a head start 
on gossip & to always gossip
about the big deal topics. the birds are
discussing the impending super nova
of our sun. one bird is telling the other
she should hold off on buying
a very expensive purse 
in case the sun burns us all. 
i want to chime in & tell her
to buy whatever she wants if we're all
going to be ash soon. i think about
an ash version of myself held together
only by stillness. the next wind
will disperse all my pieces.
i have always been fascinated with
places people want their ashes scattered.
we still have my grandfather's ashes 
& my dad won't let me take them down
to the creek to pour them out
of the metal jar they wait in.
as you can imagine, 
there are a lot of ghosts 
who come to my windows at night.
i tell them to please go. 
they mistake me for a television.
i explain i have no storyline
& they don't understand what i mean.
soon i will walk outside 
& confirm that the birds were not birds
but what if they are birds?
we all know animals can speak human 
they just choose not to reveal themselves.
all the time i type out comments 
on people's Facebook statuses 
just to delete them. i'm imagining 
a giant urn full of all my deleted words.
nothing special, just a lot of 
"have you"s and "i love"s. 
what if i am a bird 
& i don't know it yet? what if i havr
a bab haircut. i hope not
i prefer my hair less uniform.
my dog dreams about 
squirrel tails without the rest
of the squirrel. we are all selecting 
our favorite traits from ever living creature.
somedays all i can see is wings
& toes. today though i hope i can
at least see elbows & ankles.
no one appreciates the feet of birds enough.
so thin & so sturdy. if i noticed 
another creature reduced to 
only ash, i would inhale deeply 
& blow the ash out across the room.
my new apartment will be made
of straw & apologies. my new lover
will be a nest of birds. my new sun will be
sour & green & unswallowable.

instructions on how to pack & leave a four-bedroom apartment

the moon is setting
sour & green & vibrating. it's shaking
the whole painting. a brush is buzzing
with its cicada wings & trying
to paint my pupils & i keep explaining
i already have pupils or else i wouldn't
be able to see at all. 
im going to need to to recover
after putting the whole planet
in my mouth. i am buying
jaw breakers for survival purposes.
we should all practie unhinging 
our jaws or evolution is going
to forget us. i want a beautiful
fancy pigeon who teach me 
how to be less useful. my father
is always arriving too early
& i am always arriving just 
a little bit after him. i'm hosting
a family reunion in a basement
i don't have. don't worry, i don't have
much family so they should fit just fine
or i could put them all
in the microwave. it's more spacious
than you might think. no cooking, i'll just 
put the thing on unthaw & watch everyone
turn into frozen porkchops.
what are we having for dinner? 
i ask myself as i pour a glass
of lemon juice. citrus is good
for survival. i hear they're treating
the virus with it now. my tongue 
is acidic. a bunch of cherry tomatoes 
slice themselves in halves.
i rub salt in the wound. i peel off
the bandaides left on the walls.
there in a single thumb tack
holding the picture frame to my heart.
there will be blood on the floor
i cannot help it. there will be
a sad story in the newspaper 
after all of this is over only
we will not be the ones reading it.
when no one texts me back 
i start to wonder if there were ever
anyone on the other end. i start
to believe my phone is the only one 
talking to me. a great algorithm 
standing where everyone else used to.
i am okay with this reality. 
it is less embarassing to be needy 
of a machine. everyone clings 
to gigibites. it is just part of growing up.
the moon in downloading 
into my glass of water. five more minutes
to load. whose family will i swim in 
tomorrow when everything finally yellow
& ripe? i cannot tell you the future
that is only to be read 
in the dead patchs of grass from the back lot 
where only ghost cars are parked.
i have a ghost car now.

survival poem 

when i can't get up
i pretend i am just 
a swarm of beetles sprawled 
across a bed sheet. i scurry
the walls towards the bathroom
to wash my face. no one can tell me
there is no chance of hail today.
i don't believe in violins
& i'm skeptical lately of mothers too.
what am i going to do with all this
peanut butter? this is a serious question.
i have a whole shopping bag full of it.
i'm scared of running out. i met
an octopus last night in my dream 
& it blinked its eyes like a human.
i was in a tide pool & star fish 
kissed my feet harshly too. 
the sea urchins turned to sushi
& floated to the surface. i will eat
ice cream for dinner tonight
& the spoon will fall heavy
from a hole in the ceiling.
my brother is coming soon
to help lift all my dragon bones
& carry them away. i miss 
my sandals i broke last year. 
will i miss the parking lot
behind my aparment? the better question is
will it realize i am gone? 
how long will it take 
for the pigeons to gossip?
the block i live on is mostly populated
by singers. every night they crawl out
with their microphones 
& their saddness. i am a poet
& thus i keep my saddness 
to myself. i need to save it
so i can write it into poems.
when i have a good fresh saddness 
i'll save it in the freezer
& unthaw it when i need 
a strong emotion. i have felt
grey lately which is to say 
i eat nothing but dry cereal
with my bare hands. the blue clouds 
have gone rotten with age.
you need to stir the pot 
or the macaroni sticks to the bottom.
whole buildings disappear you know?
they just go away. there's a vacany 
on my street right now. people come
& stare into the ruin dreaming
of their own impending disappearances. 
they take pictures & hope to see ghosts.
i know it's no use. all the ghosts are
playing mancala in my living room.
i am alone so i let them in.
i told them to keep it down 
& i will keep them as long as they want.
they eat jam from the jar. 
bananas do not in fact grow on trees
like they told you. you are rewarded bananas 
for good behavior. this is why i am kind
& i always have bananas 
in the green bowl on the self.